


what goes on while leaned up against hay bales

by ficfucker



Category: Letterkenny (TV)
Genre: Drunken Shenanigans, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Getting Together, Happy Ending, M/M, Not Beta Read, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-30
Updated: 2020-03-30
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:53:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23401798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ficfucker/pseuds/ficfucker
Summary: you were thinkin' about yer buddy the other day and figgured a favor would treat him nicely...
Relationships: Daryl/Wayne (Letterkenny)
Comments: 12
Kudos: 142





	what goes on while leaned up against hay bales

**Author's Note:**

> was gonna be smut... wrote this instead
> 
> good enough

Just about every time Wayne's giving a go at refilling his truck or tractor, Daryl's mind is shuttled back to his youth. He and Wayne snuck out behind a round bale with a jerrycan sat between them. They'd take long huffs from the dirty plastic jug and lean back on the prickly spokes of dry hay, poking them through their flannels. Hiding from Wayne's daddy. Watching the sun cool and dip down behind the horizon as the dying light spread thinly over their faces. 

Darry remembers it well: the dizzy spinning of his head. The obnoxious giggles that escaped Wayne in quivering hiccups like how he gets now when he's absolutely plastered. The embarrassing erections Darry would get, squeezing his thighs tight in his dirty jeans, blaming it on the inhalants for increased libido. The softness of Wayne's face, having not yet grown into the sharpness of his jaw, or the new and exciting broadening shoulders. 

They'd sit out behind a round bale, hiding from Wayne's daddy, a jerrycan sat between them, and Darry would steal glances at his best buddy. Take note of how gangly Wayne's body had stretched in the last summer, all spread out like taffy. How Wayne's hands seemed impossibly large all of a sudden, like baseball mitts, and yet, somehow still so strangely familiar and fitting to his character. How pretty Wayne's serious face got when he started up giggling and moving all crooked, the sun catching golden on his tanned face, even managing to cast on and illuminate the small slats of his squinted eyes. 

Just about every time Darry's around Wayne when he's fueling a vehicle fixing for work, he remembers them huffing petrol. And he remembers when Angie and Wayne became a thing and suddenly sniffing inhalants was a childish deal and Wayne wasn't for it anymore. 

So Darry was left alone to get into his own evils while Wayne figured out the inner workings of women. He'd still huff gas, but it wasn't as fun alone, just sad. He got into darts, into any bottle of alcohol he could wrap his lips around. Daryl sometimes spent nights with Katy, laid out in the field with whatever liquor either of them could pocket or buy off of older degens, looking up at the stars and imagining a world where Letterkenny was as kind to both of them as they deserved. 

"What's gotten into you? Got yer gears turnin'?" Wayne asks. 

Daryl "huh?"s dumbly. 

Wayne's standing there, worn red jerrycan in his left hand, stood proper erect beside his tractor. "Was askin' if you figgured silage is worth the trouble this year an' you're standing dumb as a fence post there." 

Daryl shakes his head. His cheeks are flushing. He shakes his head again, trying to banish the thoughts swirling around in him, and throws up his hands, trying on a smile. "Was thinkin' how good a Puppers would do the both'a us." 

Wayne squints at him for a long, cold second then says, "Well, go on to the stand an' get at 'er if yer gonna. Still alotta chorin' to be done an' more hands–" 

"Make less work, you got it, Wayne," Darry cuts in, already legging towards the produce stand. 

* * *

Wayne, Darry, and Dan are on the porch, post breakfast and pre choring.

Wayne asks, "Reckon astronauts had a reason for drinkin' Tang up there in space rather than some other type of beverage?" 

"Gots to be a reason for everythin'," Squirrelly Dan says back. 

"Most likely. But I heard that astronauts weren't even partial to the taste of Tang so why not ditch the bitchin' an' tote along another drink?" 

"Well, whos said they didn't likes Tang?" Dan asks. "From what I seens, Tang was a mighty popular choice for them." 

Wayne pauses to suck on his dart then breathe the smoke out. "Buzz Aldrin said it." 

"Said what?" 

"Buzz Aldrin came flat out an' said he don't like Tang, 'spite them cosmonauts always takin' it along for flights." 

Dan pulls a thoughtful face, then asks, "Mr. Aldrin really saids that?" 

Wayne nods. "Can confirm." 

Darry, finished with his dart, flicks it off to the side. 

"I guess there musts be a reasons why Tang was picked, considerin' the astronauts didn't fancy its like we figgured." 

"See, that's what I'm sayin'. Why bother with some fruity little orange powder that don't even taste near as good as regular juice if the boys aboard think so lowly of it?" 

Dan turns a bit in his seat, says, "Darry?" 

"Huh?" 

"You gots an answer for why astronauts drink Tang?" 

Darry exhales from his nose, then says, "Well. Like. When you get shot up into space, you gotta make yer supplies a bit different to accommodate the change, right? Zero gravity an' such?" 

Dan says, "Right." 

"So, in space, water's gotta be mixed with nontoxic chemicals to keep it purified, but like, even though them chemicals are safe, that don't make 'em taste good." 

Wayne's watching Darry from the corner of his eye now. 

Dan says, "Right," again. 

"With yer water tastin' ripe as a moldin' crab apple, they figgured why not mix Tang into it. Cuz even if Tang ain't sweet as the real deal, least yer space water can go down easy." 

Wayne flicks away his dart and asks, "You known the secret history of Tang this whole time an' weren't fixin' to share with the class, Darry?" 

Darry rolls his eyes. 

Ever since yesterday's reminiscing about huffing gas with Wayne, Daryl's been a bit shut in on himself. 

"Reckon my head was up in orbit with 'em too, ain't even thinkin' 'bout what you all are considerin'." 

"Well, what's the news then?" Wayne asks. 

Dan nods. "What's the postman brings that's got you so preoccupied?" 

"Why's it gotta be a bad thing if I'm thinking fer myself?" Darry asks, trying not to sound defensive. "Can't a man be let alone with his thoughts fer a minute?" 

"Spare parts like you ain't got thoughts enough to marinate more than a step an' a half." Wayne stands stiffly and looks out at the fields. "Sides, save those for chorin'."

"'You all were oh-so curious about 'why Tang' jus' a second ago," Darry grumbles, zipping his coveralls to his chin. 

"An' the mystery has been solved," Wayne says as way of finishing the conversation. 

They all go down the steps and towards the barn. 

* * *

"So about Tang," Wayne pipes up. 

They're all in the barn, having a round of evening Puppers post haying and milking. Darry and Dan are sitting in their chairs while Wayne's posted up in the loft overhead. 

"Whats about it now?" Squirrelly Dan replies. 

"Well. Darry gone an' answered the question of 'why Tang', but what remains of it is… Why not some other powder mix?" 

Darry smiles to himself behind his bottle and takes a long, cool sip. He's not so moody now, his body stiff and tired from the heat and the choring, and Wayne was right about marinating while you work. 

He's shifted comfortably to admiring his buddy rather than feeling lonesome as a dodo. 

"Maybe Tangs was cheapest," Dan offers. 

Wayne scrunches up. "Go through all the sweatin' of buildin' a craft an' figgurin' the dynamics of ion drives an' monopropellant rockets an' the what-have-yas, an' suddenly there arrives a concern for the budget? Fuck. Jus' ain't logical." 

Darry likes that about Wayne: his sleuthing. How he stays on something until he can get to the bottom of it if it bothers him enough. Determined. Quizzical. 

"Cover all that, I'm sure they could find it in the budget to go fer Kool-aid," Darry adds. 

Wayne says, "Or even Flavor-Aid, for fuck's sake." 

"Drank that at Jonestown." 

Dan folds his hands over his stomach and says, "I always heards it was Kool-aid." 

"Nup," Wayne says. "Darry's right. Grape Flavor-Aid laced with cyanide was what took out Jonestown." 

"Figgure that ain't PC anymore, though. Was really called The People's Temple," Darry adds. 

Wayne takes out a dart and lights it up. "Regardless of the title, if pseudo-socialist Jim Jones could find it in him to shell out for two packets of Flavor-Aid, I find it wholly unnatural that NASA couldn't do the same." 

Dan shrugs. "Almost not worths thinkin' about." 

Wayne grumbles. 

Daryl finds it impossibly cute and part of him wishes he didn't. He drains down his drink and listens to Dan and Wayne talk, opting not to partake much further, rather just observing. 

* * *

"Now, I know these aren't mine," Wayne says, coming into the kitchen with Gus in his arms. He sits at the table, in his chair, and balances Gus on his knee. "And they sure well aren't Squirrelly Dan's cuz jus' by sight they're too small." 

"Well, good morning to you, big brother," Katy says sarcastically. 

"And Darry can't keep gloves clean worth a week. So who's left new gloves on the table?" 

The three others in the room blink. Daryl keeps on busy with excavating spoonfuls of yogurt from its small plastic tub. 

"A man asks a question, you damn better well answer it," Wayne bites. 

Darry knows a flush is rising up through his cheeks. He peers up from behind his yogurt and says, "I got 'em for ya, Big Shoots." 

Wayne blinks. He blinks again. "Well. Like. What in the hell for?" he asks, voice going up a pitch. 

Daryl plays it off casual, with a shrug, bashful. "Seen you needed new gloves an' figgured yer a touch too proud to go an' get 'em yerself." 

Dan smiles his jolly Santa smile and dips in, saying, "Well, that's reals nice of ya, Darry. Works gloves is a hot commodity in this field." 

"Work gloves should last three years at least. Mine ain't none older than two," Wayne argues matter of factly. 

"Quit barkin' an realize the world ain't the way it used to be an' things go to shit quicker than oatmeal these days." Darry licks a thick dollop of yogurt off his upper lip and Wayne turns his chin away. 

"Darry's right, you knows," Dan continues. "Jus' hopes you didn't pay too pretty a penny for 'em." 

"I had some extra back at my place," he says in a rush. "Don't jump to thankin' me so quick there, Wayne." Daryl finishes his cup and stands and goes into the kitchen to toss the tub and rinse his spoon in the sink. His face is full red now, can feel it wild-fire spreading to his ears. 

"'Kay." 

“A man needs help, you help him,” Katy says.

“Well, I wasn’t askin’ fer none,” Wayne says shortly.

* * *

  
  


“Darry.”

“Wayne.”

“I know it ain’t proper to talk so long ‘bout gifts bein’ given t’ya but what’ya go an’ git ‘em for?”

Darry sighs out of his nose. He’s squatted down on a milk crate in the barn, his coveralls unzipped so he can breathe some.

Wayne’s leaned against the doorway.

“Wayne, yer work gloves might as well be dish rags at this point.”

“Mine ain’t none older than two,” Wayne repeats. “Work gloves should last three years at least.”

Darry’s getting a bit frustrated now. He squares his shoulders and says, “Well, it’s damn well proven they don’t so hang that one out to dry. What? You think it ain’t proper for a man to git another man some gloves? Somethin’ like that?”

Wayne erects defensively and squints hard at Daryl. "It ain't about what is an’ isn’t proper. It's the principle that gloves should last longer." 

"Why can't you treat yourself to some bells and whistles?" 

"Bells and whistles are for Boy Scouts," he mutters. Wayne takes a long drag off his dart and exhales. "Who you sposed to brag to bout new gloves? Sows an cows? No one sides you an' Dan are gonna see em." 

Darry rolls his eyes. "It ain't bout braggin'. Lord Almighty, it's bout makin' chorin' easier on you." 

"Chorin' ain't meant to be easy. That's why it's chorin'." 

"Yer thicker than a brick sometimes, Big Shoots." 

"You ain't no brighter yerself there." 

Daryl groans and drops his head down into his hands. "Why'd I go an' bother with you at all then?" he asks quietly. 

"I didn't ask fer help." 

Daryl looks up and gives him a pinched expression, mouth a flat line. "Too proud for it, I know. I know. Toughest man in Letterkenny too goddamn  _ stubborn _ to accept some new gloves." 

Wayne scrunches up, his jaw setting meanly. He looks over at Darry slowly, flicks his smoldered dart off to his left. "Who the fuck're you? You fuckin' preoccupied or somethin'?" he asks. 

"Who the fuck're you? Preoccupied all day wonderin' why yer good buddy would get you somethin' nice?" Darry gets up and the milkcrate falls to its side in the hay at his sudden movement. In an low voice, exaggerated accent, Darry says, "Fuck, figgure it oot." 

"Gonna come give you a lick over there," Wayne warns. 

Darry kicks at the milkcrate, not fiercely, but enough that it skids through the hay, leaving a plowed trail behind it. "'Cuz I got you new gloves? That's a backasswards way of thankin' a guy." 

Wayne just looks at Darry a long moment through those squinted eyes of his, his fingers threaded through his belt loops. "I wasn't askin' fer charity," he finally says. 

"It wasn't fuckin' _charity_ , Wayne. Fuck a duck." Daryl huffs and zips up the sagging top half of his coveralls, runs a hand through his wiley hair. He turns and gives Wayne a hard stare then mutters, "Get this guy a fuckin' Puppers, I'm done fer the day." 

And Darry stomps off across the yard, to the lane way, and down the street, feeling Wayne's small, silent eyes watching him the entire time, until he's too far gone for Wayne to even see anymore. 

* * *

The next day, Katy steps out onto the porch and asks, "You gonna sit out here an' pout all day?" 

"An' what if I do?" Darry sucks on his dart, moping as good as he ever has. 

"I'll come talk to ya, that's what." She sits down in the chair beside him, Dan's chair, and hands him his yogurt. She sighs. "You're both bein' foolish." 

Darry opens his yogurt silently, dart pinched between his fingers and ashing onto his thigh. 

"Wayne's obviously in the wrong here, thick headed like he is, but I hate to say, you knew what you signed up for." 

Darry speaks around the yogurt in his mouth, "So I'm sposed to up an' apologize for bein' nice to a guy? Fly a fuckin' kite with that one." 

Katy's eyes are sad and patient. "You know Wayne isn't one for surprises. Or gifts."

Darry's quiet again. 

Katy sets her elbow on the arm of the chair, her chin on her palm. "Daryl… I think I got a guess as to what's goin' on here." 

"Katy…" 

"Darry…" 

Daryl sighs. He stubs out his dart and flicks it. "Why's he gotta be so… So  _ Wayne _ ? Wanted to do somethin' considerate for a friend and now look. Got us fightin'." 

"Why don't you tell him then? He ain't with Rosie or Tanis or some other sweetie. Now's a good a time as ever." 

Sometimes it's a curse, how well Katy can read Daryl, like it's printed on his forehead. 

"An' how do you figgure he'll react to all that? Can't even take some gloves. You figgure he'll be fine an' dandy with me spittin' up feelings on him?" 

Katy smiles cattishly. "You know, Darry… Wayne might not like gettin' surprises, but he's full of them himself." 

Katy stands and pats Daryl lovingly on the shoulder, that comforting way a sibling might, and paused at the door, adds, "An' I'll talk to him before chorin' starts. So yous two better be made up by sundown." 

* * *

While Wayne was off busy with Angie, and Darry and Katy were getting high or drunk or crossfaded as much as they could in a small town like Letterkenny, Katy confessed to something one night in the field. 

"I gone an' kissed girls," she'd blurted out after taking a good, long chug of the shit whiskey they were passing back on forth. 

"You mean like, how you kiss boys? Or like the way you'd kiss yer mama?" 

And once it was established that Katy liked girls the same way she liked boys, Darry let it all roll out about how sometimes he'd be looking at Wayne and his stomach would ache something awful. How sometimes Wayne would put an arm on his shoulder like a brother and Darry would daydream it was like a lover. How sometimes he woke up wanting Wayne to want him so badly, it felt like something was physically breaking inside him. 

And Katy, sweet as a peach, smiled over at Darry, gave him a playful shove, and said she wouldn't tell nobody. 

* * *

"Darry."

Darry doesn't look away from the teat he's pulling and says, "Wayne." 

"Sorry 'bout that mess yesterdey," he says quietly. "Wasn't proper treatin' you that way." 

There's a silence, save for the tinny sound of the spurts of milk hitting the bottom of the pail Darry's squeezing into. 

Wayne grumbles, clears his throat. "An' I wanna thank you. Fer the gloves. Mighty fine pair." 

"Don't mention it," Darry says. He keeps milking. 

"How's about a whiskey night?" Wayne offers. He sounds lost in a way Darry's never heard from him. "To make up for my Tom-Dickery." 

And Darry, stupidly, says, "Sure thing, Super Chief, I'm always down to toss it back." 

* * *

It's a hair past midnight when Wayne starts getting giggly in that obnoxious way of his. Chin down to his chest, legs spread in the hay wide as a V, going "heh heh heh". 

"Yer sloshed, good buddy," Darry says, feeling just as sloshed. 

"Pert near it if I ain't." 

"Yer more than pert near, ya sally." 

Daryl likes how loose he feels. The summer night wind is gusting in through the open barn doors in cool sheets, bringing with it the subtle smell of wild flowers and cut grass. Wayne's lit and hung one of the lanterns so it glows yellow down over them from the rafters. It's got Darry feeling excited and forgiving and giddy like how huffing gas behind hay bales did. 

"Those gloves," Wayne hiccups, looking up to make eye contact. "Darry, those gloves'r the best I ever owned." 

"Wayne," Darry giggles. 

"No. I'm sayin'. Between us girls." Wayne hiccups again and he feels around in the hay for his bottle, finds it with a stumbling hand. He sloshes some on the thigh of his jeans. "Best damn gloves I ever owned." 

Darry watches Wayne take a good long pull, a pearl of whiskey escaping the corner of his mouth and sliding down from chin to neck. 

Wayne passes the bottle over. 

Darry doesn't remember getting this close to Wayne, nor does he recall how they came to be sitting down. 

Darry takes his pull and says, "Wayne, I'm sorry I went an' got so twisted at you like that. Not even showin' up fer brikfest, that ain't right." 

"You had the means to," Wayne mumbles. "I was actin' a sally 'cuz…" Wayne squints up at the lantern, trailing off. 

Daryl snickers. His and Wayne's thighs are touching now. 

Darry doesn't remember when their thighs started touching. 

"'Cuz ya what?" 

"'Cuz. Well. Thought you were tryna say somethin' with 'em an' you gone an' scared me to the grave, Darry." 

Darry suddenly feels way too drunk to be diving into whatever he's gotten Wayne to confess. His head tilts with a nice spin and he gives Wayne a look." Well, like. How do you mean?"

From their stalls, one of the cows moo. Hooves clop for a few steps then fall silent again. 

Wayne looks at Darry then down at the bottle, still in Darry's hand. "Like you were suggestin' somethin'." 

"We're diggin' pits with tea spoons here, bud." 

Wayne takes the bottle, holds it so it's snug to the front of his crotch, hands cupped around it, and says, "When a man gits another man gloves, that means somethin'." 

Daryl sits there, dumb and silent, and keeps his eyes down on the hay. 

Wayne sounds much more sober. He says, "Like, fuck. Might as well go an' buy me a tractor." 

When Darry finally finds the strength to look up, Wayne's face is achingly close to him and he startles a step, shifting back in the hay. Wayne's not giggling anymore, but his face is strangely soft, flushed from the alcohol and lord knows what else. 

Wayne makes the move. He dips closer and gives Darry a gentleman's kiss. No tongue. Hardly any movement at all. 

And Darry is lit like a fuse. 

And Darry doesn't care that they're both pissed off their asses. 

And Darry grabs Wayne by the collar of his blue and white plaid and pulls him in, a head on collision, a meteor crashing to earth, and kisses him like he's trying to breathe air into Wayne's lungs. 

Wayne cants his hips up a few inches, duck walks himself closer so he's in Darry's lap, mouths still working, and Darry snakes his hands down Wayne's broad back to hook his fingers through Wayne's empty belt loops. They're about as close as they can be without being naked, without actually being in the other. Wayne keeps on kissing Darry, necking into him, his hands planted square on Darry's shoulders, the whiskey spilt and drooling its guts into the hay around them. 

And despite all the drinking, whiskey dick be damned, because both of them are clearly rocking semis in their jeans. Darry can feel Wayne's pecker pressed warmly to his lower stomach. Heat burns through him and he makes an awkward, soft noise in Wayne's mouth. 

They kiss and kiss and somehow end up with Darry's back pressed to one of the round bales of barley in the barn, the lantern starting to waver as it flickers low so they're nearly cast into shadows. Wayne's still properly in Darry's lap, human weight of him driving Darry nuts, his cock weeping precum like Jesus tears in his trousers. They've been kissing so long, his jaw is starting to ache. 

Finally, Wayne pulls back and exhales. His hair is disheveled from Darry running his fingers through it and his shirt's come untucked in the back. He says, "Ought'n'a go no further… Since we're both a bit on the line here." 

"Right," Darry pants. 

Wayne gives him a pat on the shoulder, same way Katy had done that morning, and Wayne dismounts, slumps down beside Darry so they're side to side. 

Darry adjusts himself in his jeans. His breathing is still heavy. 

The lantern has gone out completely and the air feels more cold than cool, raising goosebumps on Darry's bare arms. 

"Thank you proper for the gloves, Dar." 

"Don't mention it." 

* * *

Darry wakes up to thin beams of morning sun shining in through the tiny cracks of the barn walls, and he sits up in the hay, blinking fiercely. His head pounds. There's a blanket over his lap that he doesn't recall having the night before, and the whiskey bottles are gone, the hay swept neatly into a slumped pile some odd feet from him

He blinks over to his right and his left, but Wayne isn't on either side. 

Last night is a messy memory, but his dick, working its way to being morning wood, certainly remembers aspects of it clear as day. 

There's a water bottle to his left, where Wayne had been, and Darry takes it, uncaps it, drinks it down in desperate gulps. 

Someone's taken off his mucking boots, too, neatly place aside, unless Darry did that. 

He doesn't know. 

Daryl gets to his feet, not bothering with his boots, and wheels the barn doors open enough for him to slip out and trudge to the house. 

Katy, Dan, and Wayne are seated at the table. Wayne's in a fresh shirt and a clean pair of jeans, his hair combed neatly. 

Darry says, "I'm goin'a take a shower." 

From downstairs, Katy calls, "Don't use all my coconut body scrub!" 

Darry unbuttons his top, steps out of his wrecked jeans, and lastly strips off his soiled boxers. He cranks the silver knob as far as she'll go on warmth and gets under the spray. 

A knock and then the door opening and closing. 

"Darry," Wayne says. 

Darry doesn't say anything back. His heart is pounding and he stands stiffly under the jets of steaming water, his wet hair flopping into his eyes in dark, damp curls. 

"I know it ain't proper to come in on another man's showerin', but I wanted to clear the air between us." 

"'Kay." 

"Figgure we'll give 'er the old college try." 

Darry's eyebrows knit together in confusion and he peeks his face out from behind the curtain to look at Wayne, who's leaned against the sink, hands fingers in his belt loop. 

"College try?" 

"That's the one," Wayne confirms. 

Darry stands back up so the curtain divides them again. He fumbles for a soap bar, finds it, starts scrubbing his body down. "You mean like?" 

Wayne makes a noise of affirmation. "That'd be the one." 

"Good stuff," Darry says, so in shock he doesn't even really feel anything. 

"Good enough." 

Darry rinses himself off then reaches a hand out, asks, "Towel?" and Wayne passes him one with his eyes averted. Darry dries down then slings it around his hips and opens the curtain. 

"You ain't jumpin' into this jus' 'cuz you feel guilty or somethin', are ya?" 

Wayne scrunches his face up and his eyes go over Darry's pale, freckled body without any shame. He says, "No, Darry. This isn't about owing, fuck. Who do you think brought you that blanket an' water, ya tit?" 

Darry processes this. "I thought maybe you'd like. Well. Have a gay panic or somethin' first." 

"Darry, ya chase ducks an' wish on eyelashes. You ain't exactly a man of secrets." 

Darry feels himself blushing and he feels silly standing here, a couple feet apart, damp from the shower and pert near naked as a jay bird. "What? So you jus' always known?" 

"Not always. Just… Oh, since 'bout the time I ditched the gas huffin', maybe." 

Daryl goes pink. "This whole time?" 

Wayne nods. "I thought maybe it was a schoolboy's crush or you were gettin' yerself confused. Didn't want to mess things up with a friend and business partner." 

Relief floods through Darry like a dam breaking and tears well in his eyes, feeling lightheaded from the burst of emotion. "So. We're sweeties then?" 

"Good stuff." 

Darry giggles, his face slashed into the biggest smile he's ever bared. "Good enough." 

And Wayne leans forward and kisses Darry on the forehead and says, "Get some britches on. Chorin' to be done." 

* * *

Darry and Wayne come along a few troubles in being darlings, but they're small enough that they can overlook them. 

Like how Darry is a wigglepot in his sleep and twists himself up in the sheets and deadweight cuddles Wayne the whole night through. Wayne just shoves a pillow between them as solution. 

Like how Wayne is firm in his sexual stances and isn't interested in yes-ing in high risk areas the way Darry is. They compromise when Darry finds out Wayne gives fantastic head, which he's willing to wait for in the privacy behind closed doors. 

Darry tries Old Spice instead of Banana Boat. 

Wayne gives into softness wholly. 

* * *

Things work out and the ache of choring is worth it double now and Darry falls asleep with a Texas sized smile spread on his face. 

  
  


A few months since the drinking session in the barn, Darry and Wayne have another whiskey night. Wayne lits and hangs the lantern. Darry unwinds the orange extension cord and sets up the CD player and puts on some slow, twangy country. 

They drink their whiskey and dance circles in the hay and Darry couldn't be happier.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading!
> 
> im on tmblr @ficfucker


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